Heartbeat
by WerlynTellsNoTales
Summary: A young Elf hears a legend of a fourth dragon egg. No spoilers here, read it yourself XD EDIT: discontinued for lack of time
1. Chapter 1

I: Remembrance

A gargantuan shadow fell across the land; sixteen of Du Weldenvarden's outmost trees were set ablaze by an invisible force. The sound of cracking pine-fires filled the skies, but the light produced by the inferno was not strong enough to push the immense sheet of darkness away. All of Ellesméra's alarms sounded that day, but it was far too late. Dark, cloaked figures descended from above, jumping off the backs of dragons and what looked like dark, twisted, enormous bats with six-foot beaks. They looted and pillaged, destroying halls, felling trees, cutting down elves in their hundreds and pillaging.

An infant child was lying on the soft forest floor. In front of him stood his mother, a proud warrior and a skilled swordsman, but she seemed different from the other elves. Her skin was curiously grey, her canines were long and her ears bore strange, lynx-like tufts. She was taking on two of the dark men on her own, but even though she gave them both scars that they would not forget, after several minutes the infant saw a dark, but still somehow glowing, knife-blade sprouting out of her heart. Before the babies very eyes, his mother was then cut in two, before falling sideways to reveal one of the figures, producing strange clicking and hissing sounds. But before she had died, the mother had placed wards around her son so they would not see him. The dark figure sniffed the air, then decided it had something better to do and jumped twenty feet onto the roof of a small tree hut.

Werlyn Planeswalker woke with a start, breathing heavily.

"Whoa there, Wer. Relax. It was just a dream." he told himself. He realized that further attempts to sleep would be futile, so be lit a campfire and sat in front of it, letting it warm his bones and drive away his fear. He was relatively young, by elf standards, and an orphan since the age of three months. After the attack, he had crawled about aimlessly, until an elderly lady, who raised him, found him. She had told him of his strange heritage, he was half werecat. He shuddered at the thought of her, for she was bad mannered and had little time for him because she spent all of her days hitting steel with a hammer. When he was old enough, he took all of his belongings (his clothes, a water bottle, some food and a wooden sword called Edoc'sil, of which he was rather proud) and fled, taking refuge in the plains outside of du Weldenvarden, which he had now called home for most of his ninety eight year long life. After hunting and cooking a medium sized rabbit, he continued on his way.


	2. Chapter 2

II: Companionship

Werlyn rarely talked to anyone besides the guards of Du Weldenvarden, so when he spotted a caravan of horses heading directly for him, he smiled in anticipation.

A small group of seven men, from the south judging by their skin's dark hue, led as many horses towards the mighty elf-forest of Du Weldenvarden. Each horse was burdened with huge saddlebags, bulging nearly to the point of overflowing with gold, jewels and other riches. as such, the men were heavily armed and armored, carrying huge, curved blades by their sides and round, ornate shields in their hands. The man leading the caravan wore a crest on his head, which was a foot tall and appeared to be made of gold. He wielded in his left hand a banner, which bore a green flag with a golden crown and sword. The procession was still a day's ride from the forest and the late hours of the day were upon them, so the leader raised his fist as a signal. The others stopped, weary from the weeks they had been on the road. Dismounting, the men untied the saddlebags to let their steeds rest, placing their goods in a heap in the center of their camp. They set up their tents in a circle around the wares and tied a horse in front of each tent. The men lit a campfire near the middle of their circle, next to a pile of gold, and sat down, chattering excitedly in a strange language, unstopping barrels of mead and roasting a stag on a spit over their campfire.

In a nearby bush, Werlyn's mouth started to water. It had been weeks since he had a decent meal, besides a few rabbits and roots. Also he longed for some company, which surprised him because he usually liked to keep to himself. So it was that, out of desire for company or maybe just sheer boredom, he decided to approach the traders.

The elf stepped into the circle of firelight, his hand in the pommel of his shortsword, but not aggressively.

As soon as they saw him,

The men jumped to their feet, fumbling for their weapons. Werlyn was not surprised by their alarm. He was sure the men had been attacked by enough bandits to always be on their guard. The elf lifted his hand off his pommel and twisted it onto his sternum in the traditional elf greeting.

"Atra estetní ono thelduin" he said, showing his respect for them by speaking first. The men seemed to relax slightly, but they kept their weapons close.

"And may th'stars watch over ye." the captain retaliated, also twisting his hand over his sternum.

"Good evening, master elf. Please understand tha' I don't speak yer language as well as I should. We are naugh' bu' simple tra'ers on our way to Sílthrim, hopin' to sell our wares to the people there. Perhaps you would like ta take a look-see. Who knows? Mayhap ye'll find a little somethin'?"

Werlyn gave an amused chuckle.

"My sincere apologies, friend. I'm afraid I've no money to speak of on me. I lead a simple enough life and I am content without currency. I'm sure that you will find a better bargain in the people of Sílthrim."

Thankfully, the tradesman did not seem hurt, judging by his face.

"Right ye are, lad. Is there anything else we can do ya for?" his tone of voice was direct, but not impolite.

"Actually, I was rather hoping to be able to join in your festivities tonight? I hear that you travelers can weave

Many a good tale. And while my purse may not be bulging enough for gold or jewels, I'm sure it will suffice. If it pleases you, I could swear in the ancient language that I mean you no harm, though I'd rather you trust me."

The men murmured amongst themselves for a while in an alien language, then the captain bade him to a spot near the fire, where a man was slowly turning the spit, the smell of venison filling the air.


	3. Chapter 3

III: Purpose

A man was summoned to sit next to Werlyn. He was shorter than most, his skin as dark as charcoal, and a single strain of hair grew from atop his otherwise shiny, bald head. The man introduced himself as Kasnif, the storyteller of the company.

"Everyone, come! Come! I will tell the story of the fourth egg! It is a particular favorite of mine." Kasnif proudly proclaimed.

As the men rushed to the campfire, one of them leaned over and whispered in Werlyn's ear, but loud enough so that all could hear, the stench of mead heavy was on his breath:

"It's the only one he knows"

The myth Kasnif told spoke of a fourth dragon egg, A brilliant green egg with red veins flowing through it, which had once been hidden deep in Ellesméra. It told of how, in the forsworn's attack, the egg was taken from Ellesméra, along with other spoils of the war.

"...But! the talons of one of the cursed dragons slipped! or so it is said. and the egg fell out of its grasp! They say it still rests somewhere in these very plains. why, thinking about it, it can't be far from here! the forsworn pillaged Sílthrim after Ellesméra, so they would have passed this point on their return journey! too bad we haven't time to look for it..." Kasnif concluded, his gaze wandering across the dark planes.

To his surprise, Werlyn enjoyed the story very much, even though it described the battle in which both his parents died. He desperately wanted to find the dragon egg, if indeed it excisted. Not because, he thought, it would hatch for him but because he hoped it would restore his relationship with the elves of Ellesméra and some of the honor he had lost when he ran away.

Suddenly, a blast of confidence rushed over him.

'I spent my entire life in these plains, but most of that was further north. These southeastern regions are fairly new to me.' He thought to himself.

"I will look for this egg. And, if indeed it exists, I will return it to Ellesméra."

he declared, his chest swelling with pride.

Their festivities lasted late into the night, but eventually the men had to rest for the long journey that was still ahead of them, so Werlyn bid them farewell and prepared his own bedroll a little while away.

As usual, his dreams where haunted by the battle of Ellesméra, but this time a string of hope was laced deep within the sadness and anger. It was a faint string, but nevertheless it was there, for in his dream he saw, as clear as melt water in spring, a dragon's foot, heavily laden with spoils and riches, among them the green egg which Kasnif told of. suddenly, the slippery, smooth stone-like object slid from the dragon's grasp, falling downward. it hit the ground with a solid thump and started rolling downhill, coming to rest in a small stream where it rocked from side to side for a while, as if searching for a suitable resting place.


	4. Chapter 4

IV: Instigation

Werlyn knew the stream well enough. It was known locally as 'Wingwrest stream'. He had bathed and washed his clothes in it many times, albeit further north and west. He decided that he might as well begin his search there, as it was as good a place as any. The elf packed up his bedroll and prepared a light meal consisting of various root vegetables. after he finished, he made his way up a slight incline, in the direction of Du Weldenvarden and Wingwrest stream, which was about a day's walk away. Werlyn waded through tall grass, traced his way gently through marshland and ducked and weaved through small patches of woodland. When dusk was upon him, he set up his camp once more and slept, knowing that he could reach the stream early in the morning to begin his search.

once more he dreamed of the egg. he memorized the countryside around where it appeared to have fallen, although he realized that it might have just been a dream, not a vision. the stream was fast flowing, trees lined its edge, but they were scarce. a small, rocky outcrop, roughly the size of a man stood next to the stream, and the water flowed over a minuscule waterfall, gurgling and sputtering.

When he awoke, the ranger looked up and a smile spread across his face. He had spotted the same, rocky outcrop that he had dreamed about, not three hundred feet northwest. he hurried to pack up his equipment and decided to skip breakfast. As fast as his legs would carry him, Werlyn raced toward the stone. the trees that he had dreamed of had long fallen, but the currents and tiny waterfall were unmistakable. he placed his backpack on the bare stone and began his search. to his dismay,

when evening struck, he had still not found even the hint of an egg. disappointedly, he sank into a shallow sleep, accompanied by the babbling and popping of the brook.


	5. Chapter 5

V: Revelation

For six days Werlyn searched the stream, but to no avail. The weather had been horrible and he had not even found clues as to where the egg had gone, if indeed it excisted. frustrated, he crossed his legs and sat by the rushing water, wandering what to do next. He thought that maybe the egg had been covered up, either by rocks or algae, but he dismissed that hypothesis as he had not only been searching with his eyes, but with his mind and he would still have sensed the dragon's thoughts. He threw a thumb-sized pebble into the currents and watched as the ripples were distorted and swept away.

the pebble, slowly but deliberately, like a fat dwarf following the enticing odors of his breakfast, started rolling downstream.

Suddenly, an idea placed itself into his head. It seemed so obvious now that he cursed himself for having been so stupid. Over the near century that the egg had been, supposedly, resting in 'Wingwrest', it was sure to have been carried downstream at least a mile!

Excited by his chance of success, Werlyn packed up his camp and started hiking south, following the brook. the sound of the bubbling water calmed his senses and the smell of sweet spring rain filled the air. In the distance, over green and luscious fields of knee-high grass, a rainbow arced across the sky as if combining the world with the cloud-filled heavens above.

he had followed the stream for about a mile when suddenly a brilliant flash of grass-green light left him blinded for a few seconds. he blinked and rubbed his eyes, cursing to himself. when he regained his vision, his heart stopped. his mouth involuntarily flapped open, as if moved by an invisible force. he froze. in the middle of a deep, smooth zone of the stream, half obscured by rubble and rocks,

sat the egg.

Werlyn immediately dumped his backpack on the ground. He rolled up his sleeves and trousers and placed one foot cautiously in the water. Instantly, he recoiled for it was colder than a mountaintop in winter. a determined expression crossed his face, replacing all his other emotions. He placed his foot once again into the water. then the other. He winced, but carried on regardless. The elf dug his fingers into the pebbles on either side of the egg and pulled it free. it was lighter than it should be. He made his way gently back, doing his best not to trip and fall. When he reached the edge of the stream, he placed the egg on the ground and dried his hands and feet. it would not do to get frostbite in the unforgiving winds of the planes. only then, he took the time to properly examine the egg. picking it up with his right hand, he ran an index finger over its smooth, emerald-like surface. it was around seven inches long, the size of a large potato, and curiously oval in shape. Ruby-red veins covered its shell, like streaks of blood on a giant leaf. gently, he reached out with his mind, and touched that of the hatchling. he felt a wave of excitement, even delight. but above it all sat an aura of impatience.

'Don't worry little Bjartskular, we'll be in Ellesméra in less than two weeks. you'll be sure to find a rider there.'

to Werlyn's surprise, the hatchling seemed amused by his words. it purred audibly and settled more comfortably in its egg.


	6. Chapter 6

VI: Return

The next day, as usual, the elf packed up his bedroll and supplies. But unlike the countless days before, he carefully wrapped the bedroll around the grass-green egg. when it seemed warm and comfortable, Werlyn placed it gingerly into his rucksack. then, he took up his walking stick and set a course for the elven capital of Ellesméra.

Roughly a week later, he reached the edge of du Weldenvarden. He had purposefully aimed to enter the forest via a gate, the guards of which he knew personally. They were a tall elf with unusually long ears who wielded a glaive and a relatively young woman of medium statue who preferred ranged combat. Werlyn had spent much time with them in the past, laughing and playing games. They understood each other well, for life as a guard, like life on the planes, had a tendency to grow dull and tasteless.

Upon approaching, Werlyn called their names and they waved to him.

After greeting each other with all possible formalities, Werlyn spoke to the man with the glaive:

"Old friend, I must ask for right of passage. I bring urgent news and a secret, "he eyed the woman" very secret, delivery for the queen herself. will you please not bar my way?"

the man began to spoke but the woman cut him off.

"Werlyn, wanderer of the planes. It is a great pleasure to see you alive. the planes are dangerous, even at the best of times. nevertheless, I can't help thinking... you have not entered our forests since... "she gestured with her hands, trying to find the best words to describe her meaning" well, since before my day. So despite the need for secrecy, I must ask what it is that you carry."

Werlyn looked at her pleadingly.

"Very well, I understand. Surely, you have heard of the legend of the Fourth egg?"

"Of course. it is a popular story. But I do not see how it relates to your cause."

"We thought it was a legend. It was not." Werlyn said, lowering his voice, despite the obvious lack of onlookers.

"I have looked for, and found the very egg the legend speaks of. you must tell nobody, not even your families."

the tall elf dropped his glaive in surprise, and the young woman's jaw dropped open.

"may- may we see it?" she stuttered, her hand reaching for Werlyn's backpack. Werlyn stopped her hand with his own.

"I'm afraid it is too risky. we do not know who may be watching. Now, will you let me pass?"

the guards agreed to let him pass, and the ranger hurried northwards towards the beautiful and elusive Ellesméra.


	7. Chapter 7

VII: Judgment

Even with the unnatural speed of an elf, Ellesméra was several weeks away by foot. there was no road or path, so Werlyn had to fight his way strenuously through the dense vegetation.

But he never felt alone, for from the very first day, he sensed the dragon hatchling probing his mind.

seeing how he would react to a situation.

predicting how he would respond.

getting to know him.

judging him.

at first, he tried to resist the contact, but after a few days he welcomed its companionship. the unborn dragon did not let much of its own personality show through his mental probe, but from what Werlyn could tell, the two of them were not too different from one another.

Werlyn was even able to teach the unhatched dragon a few basic words of the ancient language. it seemed eager to learn more, and soon they were able to engage in simple conversation. Its voice was deep and raspy, seemingly powerful enough to shake mountains. Werlyn was awestruck at how quickly the dragon's still infantile mind could learn.

Werlyn ran a list of, what he deemed suitable, dragon names past the dragon (for he was a dragon, not a dragoness), but he refused them all.

Werlyn suggested the last name he remembered:

"well then, how about Koll'nir? it's suitably aggressive, but not over the top."

but the dragon responded:

"No. Place... you found... me..."

the elf was puzzled.

"the place I found you is called Wingwrest stream. it was named after the elf who found it."

the dragon seemed contempt.

"Wingwrest..."he purred, happily.

"Very well then, if you like it then I hereby name you Wingwrest. may you bring honor and glory to that name."

when Wingwrest's linguistic skills had improved, they told each other jokes and riddles to pass the time. Werlyn told Wingwrest stories about his childhood, the attack on Ellesméra, how he ran away and of the many adventures he had had on the planes. he told of how he met the group of merchants, how he feasted and dined with them, and how he had learned of the fourth egg.

"your egg".

After the story was complete, Werlyn went back further in time and told of the dragon riders. how they defeated all evil and protected the land. He also threw in a few fairy tales, just for good measure, though he made sure to differentiate between fact and fiction as best he could.

Wingwrest seemed content to listen to all the stories Werlyn had to offer. he occasionally offered remarks such as:

"stupid", "clumsy", and "a wise choice."

and all the while, the dragon judged the elf.


	8. Chapter 8

VIII: Decisions

Ellesméra's wooden gates swung gracefully open as Werlyn pushed through them. before him, the full glory and splendor of the elven capital was visible. Gigantic trees, twisted into the shape of majestic halls by the elven magic, laced with bands of gold. there were gravel roads lit up by teardrop shaped flameless lanterns, here and there a small, babbling brook flowed under bridges and between houses. towering over it all, her outline visible mightily against the glorious orange-red sunset, stood the Menoa tree. she was tall and proud, watching over all the forest. she was the guardian of du Weldenvarden.

Werlyn was scheduled to meet queen Islanzadi's herald among the roots of this mighty pine.

A tall elf with raven-black hair sat proudly on a white charger. the horse's (and his own) mane flowed like a flag in the gentle forest breeze. the man held a scroll and quill in his hands, and a masterfully crafted brass trumpet on his belt. his clothing was green and graceful, adorned with gilded leaves. he had such an aura of power around him that one might have mistaken him for royalty.

As Werlyn approached, he swung his head around to look at him, his hair floating almost weightlessly with the motion. only after Werlyn had greeted him did he begin to speak:

"Aah, the Planeswalker who would be a hero finally graces us with his presence. to what do we owe the pleasure?"

Werlyn instantly disliked anyone who considered Himself above him for no discernable reason. nevertheless, although it pained him to share such delicate information, he said:

"Listen, herald. Us lowly Planeswalkers tend to be more... straightforward than you city dwellers, so I'll cut straight to the chase, as it where. Surely you've heard the legend of the fourth egg?"

the herald's upper lip curled in disgust.

"you would seek an audience with the queen just to discuss a story designed to help little children sleep in troubled times? what makes you think you are deserving of an audience with a peasant, much less her majesty, queen Islanzadi?" he demanded angrily.

"if 'Sir herald' would let me finish?" he looked around to make sure nobody was watching and placed several wards to deter eavesdroppers.

"The legend is true. I have found the egg, and brought it here. is that deserving of an audience with her majesty?" he said,

grinning smugly. When the herald dismissed his words as 'the most twisted words (elven equivalent of lies) he had ever heard', Wingwrest spoke to him:

"do you doubt my existence, herald?" he seemed to almost spit out the word, as though it were a rotten piece of food that did not bear thinking about. with that, Werlyn unwrapped the egg and showed it to the herald, whose body went completely stiff with disbelief, his mouth flapping open.

" Sir herald, please. close your mouth. it is not becoming." Werlyn's smug grin spread further.

the herald, quite at a loss for words, left to fetch queen Islanzadi. he returned several minutes later, still speechless. he wiped sweat off his brow, gave a short blast from his trumpet and declared weakly:

"Queen Islanzadi of the forest realm of elves"

Werlyn twisted his hand onto his sternum and said:

"May good fortune rule over you, Islanzadi Dröttning"

"And may the stars watch over you, Werlyn Finiarel. but there is little time for such formalities. my herald seemed quite awestruck and says you bring urgent news?" her voice was like starlight: cold, yet gentle. and it often shone the way for the elves in dark times.

"Yes, my queen. Straight to the point then? I have found and returned the fourth egg, which was lost in the attack on Ellesméra and passed into legend."

The Queen thought for a moment, though she did not seem surprised. She leaned in closer and declared:

"This must be kept a secret. Our relations with the Varden are tense since they refuse to accept responsibility for my daughter's disappearance. Yes, I think it for the best to tell nobody of this. Has the dragon chosen a rider? or is it yet too young?"

"Your majesty, the dragon's name is Wingwrest, after the stream in which I found him. He has not yet chosen a suitable rider, which complicates things hugely, as it will be difficult to keep this secret if we start lining people up to be tested. We may be forced to cast a-"

his sentence was cut off by a series of excited squeaks and a crunch. worried, he unrolled his bedroll and inspected the grass-green egg, queen Islanzadi looking over his shoulder. a small, yet unmistakable crack tore across its otherwise flawless surface. out of it reached a tiny paw, each finger tipped in a pin-like claw. the claws were red as a dyeing sun, and the paw was as green as an oak leaf in the height of summer. Werlyn watched, entranced, as another tiny hand punched its way out of the shell, about an inch and a half to the side. it was followed shortly by two hind feet. when the dragon thrust its snake like tail through the shell, the egg positively exploded, spraying shards up to ten feet away.

Wingwrest lay on his back, his wings at an awkward angle, licking the remains of a thin membrane off his blood-red underbelly and grass green legs.

He was roughly a foot long, from the tip of his tail to the front of his snout, though his wingspan was nearly twice that. he must have been very tightly crammed inside the egg.

Werlyn turned back to Queen Islanzadi:

"well, it seems he has chosen a rider. It is either your herald, you or me. unless anybody else is here."

the queen responded, eyes still fixed on Wingwrest, who grinned sheepishly up at her.

"That was indeed a rare sight. but which one of us has he chosen?"

Wingwrest flapped his wings testingly. they were still too weak to fly.

Werlyn asked Wingwrest:

'mighty hunter of the skies and land, who have you chosen to be your rider?'

as soon as he had finished speaking, the dragon looked him in the eye and winked at him.

Wingwrest strolled clumsily to Werlyn's feet, giving the herald a disapproving glance, and began to climb up his leg. Werlyn could feel sharp claws digging into his flesh like so many needles. although it stung, he forced himself not to move. Wingwrest stopped when he reached his shoulder. the dragon's head swung in front of his own, suspended on a long, muscular neck. it stopped when it was face to face with the elf.

Suddenly, Werlyn lost all feeling in his limbs. his senses simply cut out and he felt nothing, smelled nothing, heard nothing. his vision was blurred except for the dragon's head as his mind left his body. He could feel his conscience float slowly towards the dragon, until they merged into one being. one body. one voice. with their thoughts thus merged, that one voice began to speak. when it did, it was deep and powerful, like the voice of the earth itself.

"Do you accept the responsibilities of being a dragon-rider, Werlyn Planeswalker?"

at the mention of his name, his mind returned back to his body and he could feel himself breathing again.

he smiled.

but it was unlike any smile he had ever smiled before, for it spread not only across his face, but his mind also.

he focused on the dragon and, using a newfound mental link, declared:

"It would be my honor."


	9. Chapter 9

IX: Training

Werlyn stretched on the warm, comfortable bed. his body and mind ached from the day's events. he had arrived in Ellesméra early in the morning. shortly after, he had become a dragon rider! he pulled off his fingerless glove, checking his left hand to ensure that his mind was not playing tricks on him. sure enough, in the center of his palm there was a silvery mark, oval in shape. the Gedwëy Ignasia, mark of the dragon rider. Queen Islanzadi had insisted that his training had to start that very day. she had personally taken him to the sparring fields where he dueled with several elves, as well as taking on multiple opponents at the same time. Although he received more than a few bruises, he thought he held his own reasonably well.

He glanced over his shoulder to see another bed, equal in every way. on it, wrapped comfortably in the sheets, sat Wingwrest. a small puff of soot black smoke flew from his nostrils, forming a perfect ring as it floated towards the celling. they were lodged in an inconspicuous hut, sung from a cluster of small birch trees. he got up and changed into his usual clothes; banded, overlapping leather armor, covered in a green shirt and brown trousers with an abundance of useful pockets. at his side he hung his new sword: Edoc'sil II. it was forged from brightsteel, like any rider's sword should be. a blacksmith had forged it for him. her face seemed familiar to Werlyn, though he did not know why, and although she did not reveal her name to him, she seemed very willing to help, though she treated her other customers unkindly and rudely. she also seemed to recognize his name.

Queen Islanzadi had also told him that normally they would be lodged in a special tree house, designed to fit a dragon and rider, but that it was "occupied, and for the sake of secrecy, do not try to find out by whom."

"perhaps this mysterious visitor is the reason we are confined to here and the sparring field..." he suggested to Wingwrest.

"Perhaps… who do you think it could be?" the dragon asked

"I don't know. some king or queen, maybe?"

Wingwrest hummed in agreement, stretched and stood up, arching his back.

"in any case, we have a big day ahead of us."

Werlyn laughed and said:

"I have! you'll do nothing but chase mice!"

"very big mice" grinned Wingwrest.

When Werlyn entered the field, Ravet'kier, the elf put in charge of his training greeted him and said in his heavy Sílthrim accent:

"G'day Shurtugal. And a busy one for ya at that, sir. we'll be tes'in ya skills with magic. roight this way sir, if ya please."

"Of course, friend. and please don't call me 'sir'. I have no authority over you just because fate has blessed me with a dragon" Werlyn replied.

he was led to a small clearing in the forest, where he was asked to preform several simple magic tasks, such as lifting small branches and putting out fires with water from a nearby stream. These trials proved of little difficulty to Werlyn, who used magic frequently and effectively anyway.

the training of both body and mind increased in difficulty over the next few weeks, as Wingwrest increased in size. by the end of the first week he was the size of a house cat, by the second a large dog and after a month he stood as tall as a horse. soon, he was too big for the hut, and had to be tethered outside. luckily the mysterious visitor left at the end of that month, allowing them to move into the tree house. Wingwrest was by now fully capable of flight, and a majestic sight to behold. soon Werlyn would be able to ride on his back. this prospect excited them both, and since Wingwrest also now trained, they both worked all the harder for it.


	10. Chapter 10

X: Blöthrfyrn

Probably due to the similarity of training days, Werlyn and Wingwrest's time in Ellesméra seemed to blur. So it was that they were not sure if weeks or months had passed when a messenger rode swiftly through the elegant gates of the elven capital, past the training field and into the heart of the city. Although Werlyn could not tell what message he bore, his face held the expression of inexplicable joy usually found on that of a father whose child had been born strong and beautiful. never had he seen a man so happy.

Parrying a thrust from Ravet'kier, he slashed at his enemy's wrist and caused him to drop his sword.

"dead" he said, pressing the point of his sword against Ravet'kier's sternum.

"that messenger seemed happy. I wonder if we should find out what good news he brings. perhaps the Varden have finally crept out of their hiding place and decided to attack the empire." Werlyn said, after their sparring session was complete.

Ravet'kier agreed and they made their way to the center of Ellesméra.

they waded through a positive forest (the official term) of elves, all engaged in furious celebration. Ravet'kier managed to get a hold of a friend of his, and pulling him out of the crowd asked:

"Ey-op! what got everybody so up and excited, Arnel ol' friend?"

Arnel replied, raising his voice to be heard above the cheers and merriment:

"haven't you heard? King Galbatorix, oath breaker and tyrant, is dead!"

there were cheers from the crowd, as well as Werlyn and Ravet'kier.

"…unfortunately, so is Queen Islanzadi. I'd get out of here if I were you. it's going to get pretty... wild once the question arises of who should lead us next."

"After the celebrations, fricai!" Werlyn joked.

and, indeed, the celebrations were glorious! they lasted for several days, and the people of Ellesméra even wrote a song about them. however, they had to end eventually. and when they did, Werlyn and Ravet'kier took Arnel's advice and left the city of Ellesméra. Werlyn rode Wingwrest, though be was not yet able to fly with someone on his back, while Ravet'kier rode a horse called Blöthrfyrn (Peace. lit. StopWar). they made their way hastily westwards, towards the sea.


End file.
